Defeat In Detail
by Feral Phoenix
Summary: The book of love is long and boring. — Jenon, Siskier, Garlot


Defeat In Detail

DISCLAIMER: Blaze Union © Sting. I seek to gain no monetary profit from this writing.

_(here is no I or you –_ and things we're all too young to know)

The thing is that Jenon had spent most of his life that he could remember falling in love with Siskier, and that Siskier had spent most of her life that _she_ could remember falling in love with Garlot, and that _Garlot _had spent most of his life since he was about four years old so wrapped up in the both of them that even if Jenon still wasn't entirely sure how it had happened, he could reflect on his life and choices and accept that this was the inevitable outcome.

The _other_ thing is that even though Jenon had prided himself on cultivating his personality into that of a suave and witty gentleman who would be a suitable partner in any romance (but especially one with Siskier), he… actually might not be ready for the _reality_ of romance, particularly the cohabitation part.

On the one hand, he was living with Siskier, and that was a revelation a minute—her four-leaf clover collection was almost as large as hear earring collection, which was second only to her vast closet of scarves; she had the same candid approach to sex as she had to everything else, which basically meant that she was willing to try almost anything once; she liked to take baths either obscenely late at night or obscenely early in the morning, which didn't quite amount to the same thing but was close enough; she usually kept her top on during sex whenever she was required to move around a lot, not out of modesty but "'cause I hate it when they flop". Jenon was more fascinated by her than ever, and he had taken to surreptitiously pinching himself a few times a day just to make absolutely sure he wasn't dreaming.

On the other hand, this whole setup also necessitated his living in close quarters with Garlot, and Jenon was not entirely sure how he felt about that. He kept being struck by odd things—the cute pained expressions Garlot tended to make while trying to keep his voice down, the faint latticework of old scars across his skin, the fact that his friend was a completely unabashed cuddler—and he knew probably wasn't supposed to be struck by those odd things. He was more okay with noticing them than perhaps he wanted to be, even given their relationship, and so those realizations and those feelings remained slightly suspect.

And the other _other_ thing is that Siskier's awareness of her surroundings hadn't gotten any duller.

"Are you checking out Garlot's butt?"

He jumped and looked down at Siskier, who looked like she was going to start laughing at any second and was grinning at him like they were co-conspirators.

After a moment, she bumped his side with her hips, wearing a wicked ear-to-ear grin. "You were _totally_ checking out his butt, weren't you? Oh my _god,_ Jenon."

"I—"

"Not that I blame you," she said cheerfully, "he's got a pretty nice butt."

Jenon looked back across the street at where Garlot was bickering with the guy who ran the milk and dried meat store (the man never seemed able to pass up a chance to tease Garlot). Their housemate was facing away from them, and he was wearing his usual overshirt, which ended right where his legs began.

(yes, Jenon had been looking; no, he was not going to admit it)

Instead, he turned to give her a wounded look. "And what about _my_ butt?"

"Your butt's _okay,_ Garlot's is just better." She answered him matter-of-factly, as though there was nothing else to say on the matter. "I like other parts of you more than your butt."

He had barely sighed in relief that the topic had been dropped when Siskier elbowed him again. "Anyhow, you can't hide that you were checking him out, especially because I _know_ what it looks like when you're checking people out."

Jenon considered retorting that sure, she knew when he was checking _her_ out, then admitted to himself that she'd seen him flirt with enough girls over the course of their lives and settled for giving her an incredulous look.

"The only reason Garlot hasn't noticed is 'cause he's pretty dumb about this stuff," Siskier went on in lofty tones, then leaned toward Jenon and lowered her voice as she gave him a bland sidelong stare. "You hold his hand when he's about to come and I'm too busy with both of you to do anything about it. Not _he_ holds _your_ hand, _you_ reach out and hold his."

Something in Jenon's chest thudded unwelcomely, and he scowled to cover it up. "If you can still pay attention to silly things at a time like that, then we're probably not doing our job right."

Siskier rolled her eyes. "First of all, in _my_ line of work I have to be able to pick up on little things like that no matter what condition I'm in. And second, it's totally normal to notice stuff or have random stray thoughts even when you're having sex. You're the weird one if you haven't figured that out yet."

The worst thing was that this time he couldn't deny that she had a valid point on either count—everyone was proud of Siskier's ability to notice things, and she was one of the best scouts in the entire empire because of it. And at least half of the time Jenon absentmindedly noticed appealing things about Garlot's looks or behavior it was when all three of them were naked, and after how long he'd spent worrying that something was seriously wrong with him that all his attention couldn't be on Siskier at those times, it was almost a relief to hear Siskier admit her attention drifted too.

Except that if she positively had to let her attention drift, he'd have preferred that she notice something else. Anything else.

"Jenon, _get a life, _you don't have to get so defensive when I'm just teasing you," Siskier snapped. Her face was starting to get red, her voice pitchy. "If I had a problem with you looking at Garlot then I wouldn't be in this relationship with both of you."

"That's not really it," he replied quickly, helplessly.

"Then what are you freaking out about?"

Now, how was he supposed to say _I have a problem with me looking at Garlot_ without having to launch into a long explanation of why? Jenon wasn't like Garlot, who was happy to have affection no matter who it came from, and wasn't like Siskier with her playful acceptance of everything. For one thing, the way the two of them had grown up, they'd probably never even been introduced to the idea that being as blind to gender as Garlot was strange.

And he wasn't like Garlot at all; Jenon knew that. He'd been in close quarters with plenty of other men without having uncomfortable revelations about them, and he had always been sure in his attraction to women. He'd always desired women, always thought of them when he'd touched himself, and Siskier was the one he loved and she was of course female.

Maybe it was just their close cohabitation and the way they shared in intimacy—that could be it, couldn't it?

"Jenon," Siskier said a little loudly, and Jenon jumped. She was staring at him as if trying to see what was going on inside his head.

"Um, what is it?"

"If I don't mind you checking out Garlot's butt, and Garlot doesn't mind you checking out his butt, and all of Gram Blaze doesn't really mind our living together, and most of the decent people in the world understand on some level that sometimes boys like boys and sometimes girls like girls and sometimes people like both, don't you think that it's _really_ not so big a deal if you sorta kinda like Garlot?"

Jenon winced.

"It's just that… Siskier, I don't _like_ other men like that."

She kept on giving him that blank stare like she was trying to puzzle him out. "And it's really so weird that Garlot's just an exception to the rule?"

"Yes. No. I don't know." Jenon sighed and scratched at the back of his head. It was suddenly very difficult to look Siskier in the face. "I've just always thought of myself as somebody who likes women, and it's confusing thinking that maybe that's not strictly right."

"Oh." Siskier tilted her head to the side. "Well, you don't have to figure out who you are all at once, Medoute says that it takes your whole life to really know yourself."

"…She tends to be right about that kind of thing," Jenon admitted.

"And besides, Garlot has a nice ass, and as long as we can appreciate that and he doesn't mind, we should probably go ahead and appreciate it, right?" Siskier suggested brightly, that wicked expression back on her face.

She made altogether too much sense sometimes. And she was probably right, so Jenon decided he might as well put the issue from his mind for now.

"I guess you're right. We have been wasting time talking."

As they faced the other side of the street again, Garlot turned and jogged towards them with his arms full of glass milk bottles and packaged dried meat.

"Sorry I took so long, you know what that guy's like," he said, panting. "Should we go back home? This crap's not gonna keep for too long in this weather."

"Sure, we might as well," Jenon replied. "And you shouldn't be that way about milk. You're not going to grow any more unless you drink it, it's good for you."

"Shut up," Garlot retorted good-naturedly, and the three of them fell into step together on the road home, Garlot in the middle.

Jenon looked over their friend's shoulders and met Siskier's bland gaze, and in the same movement they each reached out a hand casually to grab Garlot's ass.

(Garlot yelped and jumped and nearly dropped the food he was carrying.)


End file.
